


Bubble

by mickeym



Category: Popslash
Genre: Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-10
Updated: 2002-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:39:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You live in a bubble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bubble

You live in a bubble.

This rather obvious but still startling thought comes to you one night, post-show and on the way to the next, when you're slumped on the couch, pretending you're interested in whatever the movie on TV is, when in fact you're only semi-conscious and trying really hard to stay awake. The first month or so of touring is hard on all of you as you get yourselves back into the routine. The show tonight kicked your ass -- kicked all your asses -- and you know the other four would be lying if they said they weren't as tired as you are.

So, the bubble. Briefly you wonder why the fuck you're even trying to think, your brain is like soup right now and your body wants nothing more than to wind down and just fade away for a while. You can't stop it, though, resistance is everything. You flash for a moment on the 70's movie 'Boy In A Plastic Bubble' that starred John Travolta -- before he was cool -- and you frown, apparently with your whole body, because Joey, whose lap you're more-or-less draped over, reaches down and strokes your thigh, like he's petting a tense animal. Okay, so that analogy fits pretty well. But no, you're not exactly like the boy in the plastic bubble; he couldn't go outside because of germs and no immune system, and well, he'd die. You can go outside--

\--but you choose not to.

All of you choose it, you think, looking around the small space you're crammed into. Two big buses, both with bunks and couches and tables and booths, and yet all five of you have folded yourselves into the space of one bus, one couch and the small bit of floor in front of it.

You look at your band mates in turn. Joey, slouched down to a strange angle, his eyes still fixed on the TV, though his hand hasn't stopped rubbing your leg; slow, small circles that are soothing. He won't be awake much longer, though; he has that sleepy look you know so well from years spent together. Lance, propped up beside you, his legs tangled in yours, already more than half asleep. His eyelids flutter every so often, green peeping out beneath them, but he's so gone. JC and Justin are propped back-to-chest on their sides, nothing but a long, slender tangle of limbs on the floor in front of the couch. One piece of Justin's hair blows back and forth in rhythm with JC's breath and you can see their fingers twined together, arms stretched out in front of them. One of Lance's feet rubs gently over JC's back, a slow, hypnotic rhythm. If you watch long enough, you'll see JC brush his lips over the small, exposed bit of Justin's neck, just where it slopes into his shoulder, hear Justin's soft noise of encouragement, of contentment.

Lance rolls his head slowly and looks over at you, almost like he's aware of your thoughts, then reaches for your hand, tangling your fingers together. You rest them on top of Joey's, stroking, touching, relaxing. You smile a little when Lance's eyes close again, like that was all he needed to finish the wind-down process. It probably was.

Joey's eyes are closed now, too and you turn your head to press a quick kiss to his leg, nuzzling once to breathe in the warm, musky scent of sleepy Joey. His fingers beneath yours slow, grip your thigh once before relaxing, and he's gone, too.

You're probably the only one still awake, actually. JC and Justin have been still for a while, nothing but the odd movement and soft snuffle of breathing.

You shift around a little to find that perfectly comfortable spot, a quick breath catching in your chest when Joe's hand slips from your thigh to your hip, curving over it, fingers soft and lax in sleep, holding you lightly. Keeping you safe, in his own way. Protected, here in your bubble.

Briefly, one last thought as you begin that slide into oblivion, you wonder if the germ analogy isn't so off, either. Outsiders -- those apart from the band -- don't understand your life. You've all had relationships and seen them break off when the other party couldn't deal. Couldn't understand the hype and hoops that go with this gig. Couldn't accept being separated for months and months at a time. You all bonded in those early months in Orlando, and then especially in Germany. Maybe now, no one can really get in…anyone, anything outside of this circle of five is a germ…and you've insulated yourselves against them. Against hurt from the outside world.

You tighten your fingers on Lance's one last time, then leave the thoughts behind for blessed sleep.

~fin~


End file.
